From the Journal of an Unknown Soldier
by Lt. Noin
Summary: The thoughts of an unknown soldier before he heads into battle.


From the Journal of an Unknown Soldier   
By Lt. Noin (imnutz@hotmail.com)   
  
Status: complete   
Category: vignette   
Spoilers: none   
Season: none   
Rating: PG-13   
Content Warnings: language   
Summary: An unknown soldier writes before he goes into   
battle.   
Disclaimer: the people aren't mine, the show isn't mine,   
the original storyline isn't mine, and The Common People   
concept belongs to Kielle and Phil Foster and is used   
with permission; nothing here is mine but the prose. Be   
nice and don't sue?   
Author's Notes: Please just ask me for permission if you   
want to archive this? I'm usually very nice about this; I   
just like knowing where my stuff is. Other fics of mine   
can be found at http://www.geocities.com/tmtestosterone   
in the library. And C&C is always greatly appreciated!!   
^_^   
=========================================================   
  
I'm going to die today. If not today, then tomorrow. If   
not, then the day after that. But soon, that's all I   
know. I don't know how I'm ever going to find the courage   
to get back in my MS and go into battle, especially after   
today. Today was my first time out there, you know, and   
it scared the shit out of me. I mean, sure, I've been in   
those simulations they put you through in boot camp, but   
out there, it's nothing like what they show on the   
computer. When you're in front of the screen, you know   
it's a screen. No matter how good they've made the   
system, you know the guys you're blowing up in there   
aren't real -- they're just random assembled pixels, and   
what the hell, 'cause they can't hurt you back. It's a   
whole lot of fun when you're pointing your fake MS at   
things and just watching the brilliant colors of the   
explosions. But you don't feel the heat on your face,   
and they don't show you what you've really done on the   
simulations; I guess the engineers just didn't have the   
imagination or the stomach to show what a body shot   
through with MS parts looks like, and they sure as hell   
didn't bother to let you know how it smells like. Figure   
no one would be stupid enough to go out there after   
seeing something like that, but I probably would have   
anyway. So I'm stupid, but how was I to know what it was   
really like? I'm a dumb grunt with not even a smidgen of   
imagination. My sister told me I was completely insane   
to enlist, and I, the fool, decided what did she know?   
She was just a girl. I had to do it, to - well, I don't   
know. Not anymore. I think it had something to do with   
proving how brave I was and what she would have labeled   
male chauvinistic behavior. I hope I get the chance to   
tell her in person just how right she was. Is, I mean.   
Damnit. I've got myself thinking in past tense already.   
  
What struck me most about battle before today was the   
glory of it all, the absolute heroism required to die   
for your country, or rather, for the freedom of the earth   
in these days. Well, that's what the movies showed. Even   
through the blood and the tears, these brave guys in   
camouflage ran out there, guns ablaze, and they, as a   
team, managed to destroy the Nazis, or the Russians, or   
what have you. I thought it was beautiful, and I wanted   
with everything in my body to be a part of that.   
Normally, I'm not much a guy for courage. I'm just like   
everyone else, but this was so tantalizing, like the   
sweetness of my arms around a girl's waist. Now, though,   
all that's really left is the bitter taste of ashes on   
my tongue, left over from the smoke and the metal and   
the endless rounds of bullets. I guess that's what a   
dead dream would taste like, this horrible acrid burning   
that just hangs in the back of my mouth. I tried drinking   
to scrub it out, but I don't think it'll ever go away. I   
thought my life was bad before, when I was just out of   
school and had nothing to do, no work, no girlfriend,   
not even a bank account in my name. But now, oh God, now,   
it's not the hazy uncertainty of not having a dream that   
gets to me, but rather, the stark terror of knowing that   
I had one, and it was ripped from me in the combat zone.   
Combat is too weak a word, actually. What's out there is   
more like pure hell than anything else, all brimstone   
and fire, with the devil sitting at your shoulder while   
you try to find your last drop of courage in a world   
that's gone completely out of its mind.   
  
I can't do this anymore, and the fact that I have to go   
out again, tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day   
after that, until either my guts are blown out by the   
demons they call Gundams or until the blackness in my   
brain takes over and drowns out everything I've ever   
loved. I don't know what's scarier: my fear that I'm   
going to live on forever, but disfigured horribly, or   
that I'm going to die. Me. Blinded, or deafened, or   
missing a limb or, God forbid, my dick. Or, me,   
extinguished entirely from this thing that I call life.   
I never really realized just how easily this thing I   
call myself could be blotted out of all existence,   
eliminated by a random bullet and dying in a painful   
flash. Or worse, having to bear the agony of an infected   
gut wound, too scared of dying to tell the doctor to end   
it quickly while the poison courses through me. I'm so   
afraid that it'll all end here, that these 18 years of   
being on this earth can just be squished out like an   
irritating insect. Anything could do it, at any time.   
Just boom, and no more me. Ever. And I won't even   
realize that I don't exist, I'll just go back to being   
random atoms without even knowing that I was once a   
person with thoughts and feelings. I'm so terrified that   
I can feel myself shaking right now, and the cold sweat   
sure doesn't help. Just lying here in the dark,   
surrounded by people, worsens it. They can't know this   
dropping sensation in my stomach, can't feel how my   
breathing is getting faster, don't know how my heart   
feels like it'll jump out any second now. And I know I   
have to go back out. I can't live with myself or with my   
buddies if I don't, and I can't crawl back home with my   
tail between my legs. Because if I give up, one of these   
inhuman Gundams might just blow the hell out of my mom   
and my sister, or someone else I know. And I think the   
shame of that would kill me just as thoroughly. So   
somehow, someway, I'm going to make these watery legs of   
mine walk me back into my MS cockpit tomorrow, and I'm   
going to go out there and try to kill someone who's   
probably as scared as I am. I want to go home.


End file.
